He peers through dark curtains
Of an uncertain grey hue, touched with a smattering of black apricots,
Sandwiched between
Streams of silver.
As he watches the tiny ants
Of light meander by, he shifts
His thoughts to a certain girl
And he sighs out his spirits.

He thinks to himself,
I bet
Her thoughts run like water
But have been devoured
By a simple rectangular backspace
or spilled upon pages and pages
I bet
The night knows her deepest, darkest secrets and the sun
Her most visceral feelings
I bet
She is a world of mystery, comedy
And romance
I bet… I bet… I bet…

He gambles the night away
And the moon seems to frown upon him

He knows he’s falling for her
But he knows he’ll never get a drop